When Doves Cry
by GreyEyesGlaringAtShonda
Summary: Cristina and Burke post season 3, sans some tragic ending.
1. Chapter 1

When Doves Cry 

By GreyEyesGlaringAtShonda (formerly known as GreyEyedGirl)

Summary: Cristina and Burke post season 3, sans some tragic ending.

A/N: Okay, this is after season 3, and yes, the bad stuff did happen—but no worries! This is how the bad stuff gets _fixed_. Comprenden? Yes, it starts off sad, but if you survived McFloppy (not to be confused with McFloppyHAIR), you should be able to get through the beginning (it's worth it). BangFluff:D

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How can you just leave me standing?  
Alone in a world that's so cold? (So cold)  
Maybe I'm just too demanding  
Maybe I'm just like my father too bold  
Maybe you're just like my mother  
She's never satisfied (She's never satisfied)  
Why do we scream at each other  
This is what it sounds like  
When doves cry  
--When Doves Cry, Prince

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Her mother used to buy her Judy dolls, and she dissected them. She shaved their heads, stealing needles from her nanny's sewing kit and shoving them into the ugly holes that were left behind, murmuring mechanic drilling noises like the little boys from her playgroups did as they toyed with their model airplanes and trucks.

She cut off their arms, sliced through their chests, insistently foreshadowing the Science Fair-winning dissections from eighth grade on up.

Over two decades later, she stood motionlessly outside the bedroom her and Burke once shared, unable to crawl into or even look towards their bed, her carefully-shaped eyebrows removed as easily as the dolls' wardrobe changes, her circulation still recovering from the dress-induced cut-off, her body cavity exposed dangerously to the world. She could hear her thunderous heartbeat, echoing the whirring mutter of her fantasy, the rhythmic applause of the baking-soda-and-vinegar-flooded gym.

She'd fallen asleep in an on-call room the night before. She felt ambiguous as to whether it was her own sad stab at improvement, or another pathetic attempt to show Bailey her game hadn't suffered, but at least she hadn't woken up sprawled across the kitchen floor, or gotten stuck dodging some flippant teenager's interrogation halfway through sutures about her vodka-laced scent from the previous night.

Cristina made her way into the kitchen, ignoring the sound of her cell going off as she popped off the lid to the bottle. It was Meredith. She'd set some tacky ringtone for her the day after the wedding to let her know when she could ignore it.

She brought her hand to her mouth to swallow the pills, utilizing every bit of strength she had left to keep from dry heaving from the repugnant taste.

The ringtone stopped, only to start up again immediately.

"I'm sleeping, Mer," she groaned into the phone, her forced casually-cranky-slash-tired voice perfected from the lasting routine.

"Just checking on you," came the tentative response, prompting Cristina to up her decided dosage.

"'Night."

She dropped her phone onto the counter, heaving her body against it and resting her weight upon her elbows.

She couldn't do this, she couldn't touch anything he'd touched, she couldn't disturb the food he'd left so organized inside the fridge and within the cupboards; she couldn't collapse onto the sofa he'd held her on or breathe the smell of him resonating throughout the apartment.

It'd been almost three weeks, and it was starting to look like he really wasn't coming back.

It wasn't as if she hadn't tried; Cristina Yang was nothing, if not determined.

He'd left no note, no phone number, no information with Chief Webber except for his letter of resignation and a wealth of apologies. This halted her only for a moment, she was, after all, Cristina.

His mother had sounded harried on the phone, and told her quietly she couldn't help her. She'd spoken to his father the other six times, who was almost as articulate over the phone as he was in person. His voice was sad, and it left Cristina even less desiring to punch in the unfamiliar digits.

She didn't know what to do with herself. She couldn't face a life where she'd never see him again, she couldn't even face a month. Her breath stopped when she thought about him moving on, meeting someone else, giving her all the things she'd planned out for them. She didn't know how to do this, and she didn't want to.

She was supposed to be Cristina Burke right now, herself, but with adjustments…upgrades. She wasn't that person anymore, that hardcore vessel of perfection, but so what?

"I wouldn't want to be. I want to be _better_ than that. I'd like to believe I've grown."

She heard the words filter throughout the room, but couldn't absorb them. She could feel the world crashing down around her, crushing her, but didn't know how to stop it. She longed for his presence, even the look of betrayal in his eyes as he slammed the door in her face, or the sound of their shouts striking her in the midst of one of their passionate fights, but all she had was the shadow of where their relationship had illuminated, covering her in darkness. She felt herself settle onto the stool and her head rest in her arms, but it was a dim awareness, as she let her consciousness float away, bracing herself for another day without Preston Burke, segueing into the successive half-life.

She was supposed to be sticking, but when there was nothing to stick to, the only thing she could do was slip off the edge.


	2. Chapter 2

When Doves Cry 

Chapter 2, by GreyEyesGlaringAtShonda

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How can you just leave me standing?  
Alone in a world so cold? (World so cold)  
Maybe I'm just too demanding  
Maybe I'm just like my father too bold  
Maybe you're just like my mother  
She's never satisfied (She's never satisfied)  
Why do we scream at each other  
This is what it sounds like  
When doves cry 

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He could've found work at any hospital in the country, he could have mentored at any medical school or research university he wanted, but instead he was volunteering part-time at an obscurely-unheard of hospital in lower Washington; located in a miniscule town in which there'd be no chance of her finding him, and far enough away from her for him to be able to change his mind whenever his heart betrayed him, and he found himself heading back towards Seattle.

It was only temporary, of course. He was Preston Burke, first in his class at John Hopkins Medical School. He was too talented for some clinic in the middle of nowhere.

He was thinking about going abroad, offering his services in Africa, where they were most needed, maybe doing some Doctors Without Borders type thing. He'd always wanted to, always intended to after his career was established, and it seemed the perfect time.

But no, he'd mentioned it to Cristina a few times; eventually she'd think to search there. He should wait; yes, it would be better to hold off for awhile, steady himself, catch his breath.

He sat down on the bed, resting his head in his hands. He knew he needed to be strong enough for this, strong enough for her. He reached in his pocket and absentmindedly began toying with the one thing he'd taken to remind himself of her, besides the two small photographs pressed carefully inside his wallet, one of her by herself, the other of them together. He clasped the shiny hairclip shut before springing it open again, satisfied with his proxy to his long-established habit of fiddling with his glasses. He knew she wouldn't miss it, she had nearly a dozen of them, and if she happened to notice its absence would undoubtedly chalk it up to slipping off in an on-call room, or getting crammed somewhere to the bottom of her locker.

He felt guilty, letting himself fall to failure with such a trivial thing, but when he imagined the sweetness of her smile, the feel of her hair brushing against him, and realized they would only exist in memories to him now, he thought he'd done rather well for himself.

His father had only yelled at him twice in his lifetime, he normally opted for a disappointed gaze instead. It had always been enough. Preston Burke was raised a gentleman, and he held his father with so much respect, he'd learned to channel the look in his eyes and prevent himself from having to witness it. The tone of his father's voice when he spoke to him on the phone was enough to overshadow all of his averted mishaps in one, and left him shivering. He was a grown man, old enough to make his own decisions and differentiate between right and wrong, and he had never felt remotely afraid of his father; the chills radiating throughout his body only left him frightened of himself.

He continued to gently caress her hairpin, breathing deeply. He crossed the room to the few boxes he'd kept from storage, picking out his favorite Foote CD.

He'd danced with her to this song a few nights before the wedding. They hadn't seen each other all day, him having a 12-hour surgery, her off in some corner of the hospital studying for the exam. He'd come home exhausted to find her lounging luxuriously on the sofa, the music playing, and a look of complete serenity across her face. He had bent silently down to kiss her cheek, unsure if she was awake or not, and not wanting to disturb her; then after seeing her eyes flutter open, had lifted her up, setting her down and allowing himself to sway gently with her to the music.

She had looked up at him, and in what was her way, had told him purely with her eyes how much he meant to her. She had taken his hand as the final notes drifted out, rubbing his ring finger softly before interlacing his hand in hers.

Touch if you will my stomach  
Feel how it trembles inside  
You've got the butterflies all tied up  
Don't make me chase you  
Even doves have pride

She loved him. It was such a startling realization, how much she'd truly done for him, it had knocked him unsteady, unable to think, and he looked down that aisle and knew it was his turn to do it for her.

She'd worked the job of intern and attending, never complaining, even as he distanced himself and made jabs at her and turned his back when she moved to cuddle him in bed.

He heard the sound of the hotel phone ringing, and moved mechanically to pick it up.

He knew she'd been calling his parents, the only link she still had with him. He'd been dreading this moment, when his father found out the truth, realized whom had left whom. He knew it was coming, had braced himself for it, but nevertheless, when Preston heard the voice that emanated from the telephone, he was nearly shaken out of his reverie.

"Preston Xavier Burke, I want to know what exactly it was that you were thinking when you did this."

She'd put on the dress, and made nice with his mama, and agreed to the perfect ceremony.

"Well, clearly. Is that supposed to be an excuse? I want an answer, Preston, I've been mollycoddling your run-in here with heartache to no end, trying to comfort you, help burden your pain, and come to find out it's you that brought it on yourself."

She picked out a cake, and helped him decide music for the reception.

"You know that poor girl's called here a dozen times? Drunk, too, the last time, it sounded like. Just started rambling on about something sticky that's growing. What were you THINKING, Preston?"

She'd done everything he'd ever asked of her. He'd ridden her about her stubbornness, her vitality, then when she acted like he told her he wanted her to, he'd left her.

"What was she supposed to do, with you pressuring her like that?"

"You were standing there, saying your whole LIFE was your hands!"

She hadn't wanted to cover for him in surgery. It ate her alive, until she couldn't take it anymore, and she ended it. What she did, she did for him.

She loved him.

"Don't expect me to suddenly change. I'm a surgeon, just like you."

She wanted a small wedding, intimate.

"I am wearing the dress. I am ready. And maybe I didn't want to before, but I want to now."

She wanted to marry him.

She'd been ready to marry him. Maybe even more ready than he'd been.

She'd given him everything he'd asked of her, and she'd given it exactly when she was ready, never before.

"**I am ready. Maybe I didn't want to before, but I want to now!"**

"Preston Xavier Burke! Are you listening to me?!"

She loved him. She wanted to marry him. She was ready to marry him.

Her. His Cristina. Not any kind of placating Cristina, His Cristina. She'd been willing to give him His wedding, because that was what he wanted, but what She wanted was to marry him.

"I'm a surgeon, just like you."

"Are you saying 'yes'?"

Her smile, His Cristina's.

"Yeah."

She wanted to be his wife. Cristina Yang loved him, and wanted to be his wife.

He'd been selfish, thinking he was being strong for the two of them, ignoring her requests. That was how it'd always been.

He could see the look in the eyes he always lost himself in, glowing, shimmering, wanting more.

What were you thinking?

What had he been thinking?

Burke took his Eugene Foote CD out of the CD player, and set it in its case. His father was still yelling into the phone. Burke smiled, sadly at first, then a genuine broad grin.

How can you just leave me standing?  
Alone in a world that's so cold? (A world that's so cold)  
Maybe I'm just too demanding (Maybe, maybe I'm like my father)  
Maybe I'm just like my father too bold (Ya know he's too bold)  
Maybe you're just like my mother (Maybe you're just like my mother)  
She's never satisfied (She's never, never satisfied)  
Why do we scream at each other (Why do we scream, why)  
This is what it sounds like

When doves cry  
When doves cry (Doves cry, doves cry)  
When doves cry (Doves cry, doves cry)

Don't Cry (Don't Cry)

When doves cry  
When doves cry  
When doves cry

When Doves cry (Doves cry, doves cry, doves cry  
Don't cry  
Darling don't cry  
Don't cry  
Don't cry  
Don't don't cry


	3. Chapter 3

When Doves Cry 

Chapter 3, by GreyEyesGlaringAtShonda (aka Greyeyedgirl, aka Ruthi)

A/N: I've found that fixing the finale is very therapeutic (how ironic, too bad Shonda's shrink couldn't fix _her_ before any of this icky stuff could even get out of hand). Since the finale was, after all, so devastatingly heart wrenching, I think some extreme fluff is needed to balance it out—plus, come on, Bang _deserves_ it (so do Bang's fans)!

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She had planned on sleeping in an on-call room, but her attempt to portray to Bailey just how fine she really was failed to sell, and somewhere in the middle of Bailey's harangue about surgeons with hangovers not being the ideal thing for patients to be exposed to, she'd turned and trudged from the hospital, slighting Bailey along the way. She'd overheard Izzie making plans to go to Joe's after work, so promptly headed towards the parking lot on the building's opposite side, ignoring the attempted cheerful wave from one of the new interns.

In the disoriented state she had maintained, even in sobriety, for nearly the past month, she was oblivious to the fissure of light peeking from the bottom of the door until she was nearly inside. Then she saw his face, glancing up at her from where he was placing flowers onto the table.

It was like waking up from a coma to find someone beating a metal pan next to your ear. Her instinct was to move away, shield herself, then accommodate the full realization of unawareness and incapability. She couldn't speak or think, it was if the entire functions of her cerebrum had suddenly cut off, leaving her unable to think, form connections, develop an escape strategy.

He couldn't breathe. He should have been prepared for this, his life had revolved around it for weeks, he was in complete control, knew exactly what it was going on; yet, it was him doing everything he could to keep from hyperventilating, while she was just standing there, staring.

The way she was looking at him scared him. The light was gone from her eyes, they brimmed however with some kind of glossy darkness, making him imagine some black pearly substance about to overflow from them. She hadn't looked at him without tenderness in a very long time.

The darkness in her eyes seemed to be radiating from her own body and lathering his; he looked away from them, focusing on the rest of her. His stomach turned over.

It was nothing that wasn't to be expected. The wrinkled, unwashed clothes should have been a given.

But no, he realized, they shouldn't have been. Her _things_ were messy, but _she_ wasn't messy. If she hadn't felt like washing them, she would have thrown them out, bought new things; she would never have just kept wearing them.

But she had. It unsettled him.

He looked at how they hung off her frame, much more loosely than he was used to. Her skin was thin, and paler, and she looked vaguely dirty. The lines of her face were lax and empty, like a person who knows they're never looked at, and haven't gazed at others in turn.

He'd found the bottles of liquor lining the counter, and disposed of them appropriately. They'd unnerved him, but they were nothing to how he'd felt when he'd discovered the pills.

He was scared for her. He'd been anxiously awaiting her return, debating whether to go to the hospital just incase she shouldn't be driving, then comforted himself with the knowledge she'd be stopped if she needed to be. He could count on people. Bailey would never let her get away with it. Her friends, her fellow interns; it was their thing, they'd always be looking out for each other.

Where the hell had Meredith been? He'd squeezed the bottle in contempt, wanting to rage at her. She was supposed to be her _person_. Cristina had been there every time she needed her. Where had _she_ been, while Cristina was putting away bottle after bottle of toxic liquid and anatomical poison? What the hell was the matter with her?

_He_ was her person. He was the one who took care of her.

How could he have left her?


End file.
